


Constants

by dilapidatedcorvid



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, they love each other your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29895930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilapidatedcorvid/pseuds/dilapidatedcorvid
Summary: It’s just that it’s nice to wake up to the warmth of a body pressed up against her back. It’s nice to go to sleep with Beau’s arm draped over her side, insisting on being the big spoon. It’s nice to be the one to wake up just before Beau does, to turn in Beau’s arms, and curl her hand loosely, brushing her fingers over Beau’s cheek and combing loose strands of hair out of her sleep-sweet face.or, Yasha wakes up first.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	Constants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionettscourage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionettscourage/gifts).



There are few constants in Yasha’s life of anything but.

It’s not that she’s complaining—Yasha has long come to understand that joy and grief came hand in hand, and that to bare her heart would be to open it to being wounded, but fuck it, right?—it’s just that every wanderer goes looking for something, and when it is found, well…

It’s just that it’s nice to wake up to the warmth of a body pressed up against her back. It’s nice to go to sleep with Beau’s arm draped over her side, insisting on being the big spoon. It’s nice to be the one to wake up just before Beau does, to turn in Beau’s arms, and curl her hand loosely, brushing her fingers over Beau’s cheek and combing loose strands of hair out of her sleep-sweet face.

It used to be that Beau would rise first of them all to wake her body with exercise, but perhaps even the most unchangeable of things change when a warm body shares the bed.

Eventually, eyelids will flutter open at the gentle disturbance of the baby-soft hairs just above her ear, and the eyes that look back will be blue. Lighter and brighter when she rolls onto her back and stretches languidly, squinting under the sunlight that filters through the window onto their bed on a sweet summer’s day if they’ve decided to sleep in a little, darker with desire when night falls and a different kind of warmth suffuses her skin.

Sleep-addled, she’ll push her face into Yasha’s touch, reach up to curl her slender fingers tenderly around Yasha’s wrist, and blink slowly, like Frumpkin does when he curls up in her lap.

If they’re lucky, it will still be dark outside, a peaceful respite before the sun kisses the warming skies, night shrouding them for just a few minutes more to linger in languor.

If they’re lucky, it will be bright outside, and they will wake to the sounds of Veth ribbing Fjord relentlessly outside their door as they head downstairs, leaving them just a moment more to themselves.

If they’re lucky, it will be sunrise, the sort that stirs one from sleep like snow melts from branches, slow and soft, crystalising into clear, bright wakefulness, simultaneously glass-spun and knife-edge sharp, and melting once more into the warmth of each other’s arms.

If they’re lucky—and the days when they’re not are far and few between—they’ll spend the time it takes to wake up, for the heat of their blankets to dissipate into the morning air, in a little world of their own, populated only by soft kisses to the insides of wrists and short nails scratching napes and thumbs stroking over lips curved in earnest smiles.

And inevitably when the soft hairs on Beau’s arm raise in deference to the nip of the morning chill, they will roll out of bed, get dressed, and head downstairs, be it a tavern or the tower, for breakfast. And come the next morning, they will do this all over again.

One day, the peace may be broken as the other shoe drops, but for now, Beau’s eyes are closed, her breath warm against Yasha’s clavicle, hands loosely fisted around the blankets.

Yasha cups the side of her head, short hair soft against her palm, and runs her thumb over Beau’s cheek where her jaw is tightened in her slumber. It unclenches under her touch and when Beau stirs and blinks awake drowsily, Yasha smiles into sleep-soft cerulean for the hundredth time like it’s the first time all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday to one of my closest friends. We both know my love language is words, so: Thank you for being a constant in my life; it is so much better with you in it. I love you and I'm better for knowing you, you who makes the sun shine. And, forgive me for being sentimental as shit, but, I hope I keep you in my life for a very long time.  
> Here’s to another revolution around our brightest star.
> 
> And of course, my thanks to [@searchforthescars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchforthescars) for your keen eye and mind for words, your writing wisdom is something I'm grateful to be able to ask help from. 
> 
> Tumblr: [frumpkinspocketdimension](https://frumpkinspocketdimension.tumblr.com)  
> Discord: SweetBabyRae#0967


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